


can't help myself

by thescrewtapedemos



Series: EDM PWP oneshots [3]
Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 03:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9216509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: Porter sees something he does and doesn't want to see.





	

**Author's Note:**

> nsfw drabbles request. 
> 
> enjoy xoxo

Porter’s first thought, before the ugly, sickening jealousy begins to pour over him like a tide, is that they look like they’ve done this before. 

The jealousy comes on the heels of that thought, follows it like it was inspired by it and maybe it had been, maybe that’s what he’s jealous of. Maybe it’s the intimacy or Mat’s mouth so red and wet and tight or Hugo’s thick cock rocking into him. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t _understand_ himself or the ugly creature suddenly shrieking in his chest. 

He’d been outside, chatting with fans and then the head tech had questions for them about the lighting, about some technical aspect of the next venue and how their normal setup is just a little too big for the stage. He’d been gone almost an hour and he’d hurried back to the green room because he’d wanted to grab Hugo and load up so he could go lay down. 

He’s drunk, the dizzy edge to the world that dulls him to instinct and impulse. He’d felt antsy, almost caged. 

The door had been shut and he'd thought that was strange, but it had been unlocked. He thinks they’d forgotten to lock it or they just hadn’t cared, and the animal jealousy in his chest shrieks again, a prickle of stinging envy and want and anger.

“Ahh,” Hugo sighs. He has one long hand on the back of Mat’s head, fingers so delicate and strong tangled in Mat’s hair. He’s rolling his hips, thrusting slow and even into Mat’s mouth and Mat sits there and _takes it_. His hands are loose and unmoving on his thighs, his head tipped back to take Hugo’s dick and he looks so peaceful in a way Porter’s never seen him. 

Porter’s cock throbs and he hisses, looks down and realizes with a moment of stupid surprise that he’s hard. 

The shock has settled into a throb that's vicious, angry arousal and he grits his teeth against it, against the desire to press his palm against the hot bulge of his erection against his jeans. 

“T’es beau,” Hugo murmurs and his voice is an outline for the noise of his cock in Mat’s mouth, the wet noises. Mat moans in answer, muffled but the tone of worship and desperate gratitude makes Porter’s hand tighten into a fist. 

He doesn’t know which of them he’s jealous of, he thinks dizzily. He doesn’t _understand_. He doesn’t understand why suddenly the rage baking in his throat is there, why there’s an animal clawing in his lungs. He wants, he knows he does, his cock is throbbing and aching with want, but it refuses to point one way or the other. 

He imagines being in Hugo’s place. Mat’s mouth stretched around his cock, his eyes on Porter’s face instead of Hugo’s. The wet softness of his mouth, plush lips around his cock. It looks like Mat knows what he’s doing, he’s taking all of Hugo without a hint of choking. Porter imagine rocking into him, feeling his throat open to take him. 

His hand finds its way to his cock, presses down against his erection and the rough friction isn’t a relief. He has to bite back a groan, has to swallow down the noise he wants to make. It had been a snarl, he recognizes dimly and it almost scares him but he’s still drunk and so turned on and all he wants is to touch himself. 

It’s wrong. It’s so wrong, jerking off to his best friend and who had once upon a time been something close to that together. It’s wrong and in some time that isn’t now and some place that isn’t this, isn’t watching them together, he’ll feel guilty about it. For now...

He imagines being in Mat’s place and he gives up. 

The noise of his zipper sliding down echoes in his ears and he freezes for a moment but neither Hugo nor Mat falter, no pause in the murmur of Hugo’s voice or the slick noise of Mat’s mouth. Porter slips his hand into his underwear, wraps his fingers around his dick and hisses out a breath at how _good_ it feels even at such an awkward angle. 

Hugo’s cock rocking into his mouth. Porter imagines his own lips stretched around it. It hitting the back of his throat, choking him. How full he'd feel with it, filled and claimed. 

Hugo’s big. _Very_ big and Porter had known that because it’s hard not to know, living so close to each other for so many weeks for this tour. He’s been not-looking for so many years but he still knows. It’s different like this, though, watching Mat’s mouth stretched around it, his throat working to contain it. 

He rolls his hips up into the loose grasp of his fist and bites down on the noise of pleasure. It feels so good and he’s still so angry, so jealous but in some fucked up way it makes the pleasure better, the fire roaring in his chest is making his cock throb in his grip. 

“So close,” Hugo whispers and Porter watches his face. Watches the slack pleasure, the softness around his eyes when he looks down at Mat when Mat whimpers an answer. 

This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, Porter is suddenly sickeningly aware. There’s too much there, too much _trust_ in how Mat lets Hugo tip his head back farther, comb his hair away from his face. They’re too close, Mat stares up at him with too much softness, and Porter thinks he’s never wanted to throw something so much in his life. 

He _wants_. He tightens his grip, rolls his hips viciously. 

Hugo comes with a noise that’s so soft and sweet and hot that it doesn’t seem real until Hugo’s finally guiding Mat off his softening cock. Mat goes easily, stares up at Hugo like he’s in a trance and leans into the hand Hugo has left on his cheek. His mouth is open and a line of pearly come spills from the corner of his mouth. 

“Swallow, bébé,” Hugo murmurs and Mat swallows convulsively, licks his lips. 

Porter tightens his fingers around the base of his cock and breathes until the edge of his orgasm retreats a little. It had been close, a moment where the desire to come had almost overcome him. Only the jealousy had stopped him, the want to stay and see more. Masochistic and envious. 

“C’mere,” Hugo says and Mat climbs to his feet. He’s unsteady, Porter sees. Stumbling as he lifts himself, hands coming up to catch Hugo’s chest. Hugo’s hands go around him, steady him, pull him in to lean against his chest. 

Mat’s face is still so slack, so peaceful. His mouth is swollen from Hugo’s cock, red and wet, and Porter’s cock throbs again. His clothes are rumpled, his hair a mess, and he leans his head against Hugo’s chest with a neediness Porter’s never seen in him before. 

He’d always been so guarded. So desperately angry at the world and so rigid with it. It hurts in a way Porter doesn’t want to look at, doesn’t want to understand to see him so at ease with Hugo now. 

“So good for me,” Hugo murmurs and Porter grits his teeth, resumes rocking into his hand. Mat whimpers and Porter blinks the sparking pleasure from his vision and watches Mat rock his hips against Hugo’s thigh. 

“Matan,” Hugo murmurs. 

Mat’s beautiful caged in by Hugo's arms, so at-ease leaning against Hugo's chest. The pleasure is obvious too, Mat’s eyes closed and eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as his hips roll again and again. He's making quiet noises of pleasure, so soft in a way Porter never would have expected. 

Hugo puts a hand on his cheek and guides his head up and then they're kissing and somehow this is worse than the blowjob had been. More intimate. More sweet and good and Porter hisses out a breath and comes into his fist. 

Mat follows a moment later and Porter hates it through the swirling haze of sick, hollow pleasure. Hates that he's going to remember the sweet whimper Mat makes when he comes every time he jerks off until he can erase it from himself. 

He pulls his hand free. It's wet with come and already drying sticky and flaky. He wipes it on the wall with a feeling of bitter vindication. It won't have been the worst this place has seen and he just doesn't care. 

Mat and Hugo are murmuring to each other. Porter turns away and staggers back down the hall. He needs to find a bathroom to wash his hands in. 

He feels kind of dirty.


End file.
